


La Libération

by lilbatfacedgirl



Series: Escapar [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Language, Specific warnings in each chapter, mild bondage, negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-05-31 11:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbatfacedgirl/pseuds/lilbatfacedgirl
Summary: Yet another follow-up to The Captain of My Soul (I can't let this universe go. It's my happy place).  A bunch of encounters between Ian and Mickey as they are mentored by Augustin and Ivan about healthy relationships and boundary pushing over the course of their engagement and marriage.





	1. Ian Gets a Present (Interlude #1)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be just a collection of Mickey and Ian getting adventurous in their fabulous Mexican resort home. Then, as my works always do, it went and got all plotty and angsty and relationship definey. Ah well...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian has a heart to heart with Augustin, who proves to be a wise and risque relationship counselor.

**June, 2022**

Ian Gallagher had rarely known security. His formerly feral fiance had known it even less. For most of their lives, they had hovered on the edge of chaos; clinging, managing, surviving. And that kind of entrenchment didn’t just shake off overnight. 

So Ian supposed it was no surprise that he struggled when he first landed in Escapar full time. Well, maybe that oversimplified shit. He didn’t struggle with the work he did as he built up the resort’s aid facilities. He didn’t struggle with his health maintenance either. If anything, that had become even easier in the low-stress world of the resort. 

No, he struggled with Mickey. And that terrified him.

It was a mutual struggle, but Ian didn’t know if he should feel better or worse about that. It wasn’t that they fought exactly. Their life was mellow and ordered here. Hell, their only real source of stress was aligning Mickey’s work and class schedule with Yev’s skype sessions. But there was something, this lingering shadow that fell over them more often than Ian’s comfort levels would allow. Sometimes, they’d snap at each other over stupid shit. Sometimes, there was a tension that just ricocheted around the confines of their little apartment. And Ian wasn’t fucking stupid. He knew where it came from. They were still trapped in an echo chamber of hypervigilance. 

And Christ, it was killing Ian to think about that. They’d both grown, actually. They’d both become strong, confident and capable. They’d both been healthy, for fuck’s sake. But being around each other awoke the old fears, the old anticipation of impending disaster. Well, fuck that. There was no way in hell he was going to let he and Mickey’s real shot at happiness get screwed up by their shitty old life. They needed help though. More than just a shrink. Ian saw his new one pretty regularly and Mickey had been willing to attend, but whatever they needed, if just felt like it went way beyond counseling. They needed a different kind of expert, one who had specific insight. And much as Ian hated to admit it, he knew exactly who he needed to talk to.

“Describe the feeling to me,”

Ian shot Augustin a look but there wasn’t much heat behind it. Of course, the refined frenchman sounded like a shrink himself. Or a yogi, or a philosopher. That was just who he was and by now, Ian knew he should just be used to it. Besides, who was he kidding? Augustin had become just as much a mentor and guide to him as he’d been to Mickey by this point in time. So Ian just sighed and answered.

“I feel hot. Frantic. Almost manic but I’m completely aware of my actions. And he’s the same. We aren’t any good at relaxing around each other. It’s like we need to be doing something all the time, touching or engaging all the time, because otherwise, we might lose ahold of each other. So we fuck all the time, but we can’t  _ always  _ be fucking and then we’ll try to talk or some shit and we end up just pissed off.”

Augustin only nodded and took a sip of his iced tea. He stared out over the view from his balcony, looking pensive as he gazed at the ocean. Beside him, Ian could only play with the napkin he was knotting and wait.

“It’s interesting,” came the eventual reply.

“Interesting?” Ian groused, shooting the older man a dark look. Augustin only smiled lightly and took another sip of his drink. 

“Yes, Roquin, it is interesting, at least from a largely objective outside observer’s perspective. And that is the role you would like me to fill, is it not?” He turned his smiling gaze back to Ian and the redhead could feel his frustration melting under the frenchman’s charm. Ian could only sigh and nod. There was no fighting Augustin. He was the most disarming person Ian had ever met. And he knew his shit.

“If you had to sum up the problem, what would you say it was?”

“We burn too hot,” the answer tumbled automatically from Ian’s lips but the moment he heard it, he knew it was true. “We don’t know how to control it. We’re gonna end up burning each other out.”

“Hmmm,” the older murmured cryptically. He stared at Ian for a long time, until the redhead wanted to squirm under the careful consideration. 

“I don’t think it’s quite that simple, or quite that dangerou, Roquin,” Augustin finally replied. The lightness melted away from his features and he leaned forward with clearer intent. “A fire doesn’t need to burn itself out. It can easily be refueled. And I wouldn’t worry about heat either. A fire can burn safely at incredibly high temperatures. But there is something you need and you have already identified it yourself.”

Ian found himself leaning forward, too. “What?” he asked, hearing the hope in his own voice.

“You need elements of control.”

Ian ducked his head, “I know, but what the hell does that look like?”

“Tell me something, Ian. When you and Mikahilo make love, what does  _ that  _ look like?”

“Hell, I don’t know,” Ian replied in a flustered voice, “I don’t know that I’d call it making love. We’re not really soft with each other or anything. We used to be, a lot actually, back when I was living at his house, but down here…”

“You don’t think of it in those terms?”

“No...I mean, yes. I love him, okay. He loves me. You know that. So, yeah, it is.”

“But you say it isn’t soft. That doesn’t surprise me, knowing you two. What is it like.”

A flush was burning it’s way up Ian’s neck but he needed fucking answers. Taking a sip of his own drink, he forced himself to respond. It was Augustin, for fuck’s sake. He could trust the guy with anything, whether he liked it or not.

“It’s like a battle, I guess,” he answered, searching for the words, “Like a battle of wills for which one of us can make the other one feel more. We’ll push and tease the hell out of each other until one of us cracks. Shit, until I crack. It’s always me. Then I just kind of go all caveman on him and pin him down and just torture him. But in a good way,” he tacked on the end as he met Augustin’s eyes. The frenchman’s expression held nothing but amusement though.

“I am sure it is in a good way. And how does Mikhailo respond?”

Ian shrugged a tension knot out of his neck. “He...I mean, he fucking loves it. That’s when he gets soft. He gets all warm and clingy and compliant.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Its...its just not...no its not a fucking problem. He used to be like that a little, when he finally let himself love me. He’d be sweet and affectionate and shit. Hell, he told me he loved me first. But this is different.”

“A problem, though?”

Ian stared down at the table consideringly. “No, it’s not.”

“He enjoys it? When you hold him down and make love to him?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he fucking loves it.”

“And you?”

“I fucking love it, too.”

Augustin’s lips widened into a smile. “Then I don’t see a problem.”

Across the table, Ian could feel his face turning mulish. “But there is. Like I said, I can’t just be fucking him into the mattress all the time. And whenever we aren’t, the tension is there and it’s fucking awful.”

Augustin nodded again, slowly, infuriatingly. But Ian knew this dance. He needed to wait this out. His friend would only speak when he had chosen the right words. But he always gave the right advice.

“Roquin, you feel safe here. You trust this place. This I know. You and mon chaton both feel safe here. You know that you have a great deal of control over this world and your places in it. But, by your own accounts, this is still a fairly novel experience for both of you. You mostly remember chaos. And I think you often see that chaos when you look at each other. You are the great loves of each other’s lives, of this I have no doubt, but you also serve as a constant reminder to each other of your most powerless moments. Would you not agree?”

Ian ducked his head in ascent. Hell, he could feel his eyes starting to burn. Dammit, Augustin was also good at making him cry. 

The older man didn’t continue. Instead he rose, walking back into his office, Ian seized the invitation, frantically wiping at his eyes as he heard the other man returning. 

A small, ornately wrapped box was placed on the glass table top between them.

“What’s this?” Ian asked, eyeing it.

“A gift. For the two of you. Something Ivan and I expected you might need and enjoy at some point. I think that point is now,” He leaned back and took a long, elegant sip of his drink as Ian considered the box. “Go ahead.”

“Okay,” the redhead could see his hands tremble as he pulled at the elaborate bow and heavy paper, but he knew it was from anticipation. Inside, he found a gleaming black box and a nest of tissue paper when he lifted the lid. But when he finally sorted through the nest of packaging, he found himself sitting back and staring. 

“What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” he answered honestly. Reaching out, he drew the box toward him and examined the contents. 

The blindfold was the first thing he pulled out. It was a jet black, padded and silken, but clearly well made and highly functional. Beneath it lay a carefully wound coil of buttery cords in the same black hue. Ian could feel his fingers toying with the smooth fibers, marveling at their texture. 

“The hell am I supposed to do with these?” he asked in a choked voice. In fact, his mind was already swimming.

“What would you like to do with them?” Augustin asked, false innocence dripping from his voice as he took a look sip of his tea and stared at Ian over the lip of the glass.

What would he like to do? His imagination fairly exploded. Mickey stretched out across their bed, his limbs taut and bound, his sight stolen, completely at the mercy of Ian’s voice and touch. Hell yes, he’d like to do that with them. He’d like to tease Mickey endlessly with his fingers and tongue while the brunette pulled helplessly at his bonds. He’d like to fuck into him slowly, pinning his mouthy lover’s tongue down with one thumb so that he could only moan and garble while Ian took him. He’d like to...fuck…

“Do you think Mikhailo would like to do that, too?” Augustin asked, clearly amused. 

“Yeah, but…”Ian shook his head, desperately trying to clear his head. “How’s this supposed to help with the other shit.”

“Oh, my precieux chaton, you are not so closed minded.”

“I think you got me confused with Mickey.”

Augustin only snorted, “No, you are as much my kitten as he by now, Roquin, and that is why I have given you yarn to play with.” The older man smiled fully now, warmth and genuine affection clearly written across his features. “Tell me something, mon chaton. Would you ever just tie up Mikhailo? Would you ever just tackle him to the floor, for example, and pin him there?”

“What?” Ian stared hard at Augustin. “No! I mean, fuck no. I couldn’t...I would never do that.”

“Yes,” Augustin replied simply, “I know that. What will you do with these new toys then?”

Ian could feel his shoulders shrug. “I mean, we’d have to...we’d need to talk this kind of shit out.”

“So you would discuss it? Together?”

Ian stared across the glass top table, uncomfortable realization hitting him full on. “You want us to talk? About this shit?”

“Of course,” Augustin said. “You must. You must speak about this and understand each other’s desires. Each other’s limits.” He emphasized the last line pointedly.

“I know,” Ian murmured, letting his eyes drift down to the table, “I wouldn’t...I’d never try anything if he wasn’t okay with it.”

“And you would, of course, require the same from him?”

Ian glanced up. Augustin only sighed.

“Someday, Roquin, I hope you will realize that you are as valued and respected as Mikhailo in my eyes. But that is a talk for a different day. Right now, I want you to realize that the contents of this box are a useful tool for you and your love. Take it, discuss it, plan with it. If you can do this, I believe it will do two things. One, it will help you both get a clearer sense of this control you crave. You wish to have more of this. He, I suspect, desires to surrender it more. Would you agree?”

Ian felt his head nod intuitively.

“And secondly, it will require you to speak about things that will push your boundaries. But it is also something that will motivate you. You will want to try your new possessions and, as you say, you will not do so without talking to Mikhailo. You will talk about important issues; trust, safety, consent. Things your prior world often overlooked, and not entirely by choice. And I will tell you this, Roquin. I firmly believe that if the two of you can speak about these issue in regards to your bedsport, it will be a doorway for other conversations. The necessary kind. The healing kind.”

His eyes were fixed across the table, holding Ian’s gaze until the redhead cracked and looked away. “Do you disagree, Roquin,” he asked quietly.

“No,” came the heavy, easy answer.

Augustin smiled. Ian didn’t look up, but he could hear it in his voice.

“Well then, Ian. I will leave you to it.” Pushing himself up to his feet, the elegant frenchman headed inside. But as he pushed open the glass door, he turned and looked back. 

“And I hope that when my precieux petit chatons need some new toys, they won’t hesitate to come ask? Ivan is especially talented at such things.” And with an affectionate wink, he was gone. 


	2. Mickey gets an upgrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings at the end

**January 11, 2024**

Mickey Milkovich’s husband loved his body. Yeah, he loved his heart and mind and soul and all that, but Ian fucking loved his body. Anyone who knew them knew this was true. The redhead was affectionately handsy with everyone he loved, but he loved Mickey most of all and it fucking showed. 

Ian loved his legs, his lips, the long lines of muscles in is back. He loved Mickey’s hair, his eyes, the column of his throat. Ian loved him all over but there was one part of him that the redhead always set aside for some special attention. And it wasn’t where most people would think. Sure, Ian practically worshipped his cock and ass but neither of those was the spot. It was ironic as hell, if Mickey really gave it any thought, but for a man who had absolutely zero appreciation for breasts, Mickey’s husband was pretty fucking obsessed with his nipples. 

And that was why Mickey found himself in his current delicious predicament. His arms were useless, crisscrossed at the wrist and bound tightly to the headboard. His mouth was garbled by the black silk ribbon that Ian had tied around his head. His legs were spread wide and trapped by the width of the redhead’s shoulders. 

Ian was settled comfortably between his thighs, leisurely torturing Mickey’s sensitive hole with his lips and tongue. It was exquisite hell, made all the more potent by Ian’s final, ingenious little ploy. Mickey had no choice but to moan and cry but lie perfectly still as Ian continued his torment. Every time he moved, every time his shifted, every time he so much as bucked his hips in bliss, Ian would reach up and pinch his nipples hard enough to draw a shriek from deep in his throat. 

And Ian wasn’t aiming to be merciful. Fuck no. In fact, Micky was pretty sure that Ian wasn’t even primarily focused on getting him off. No, this was all about how red he could turn the tender nubs before Mickey finally begged and cried and fell apart. 

They were sensitive as fuck. They probably always had been, but Ian hadn’t really discovered this particular personal fetish until they’d been engaged. And at first, teasing, clamping,and generally molesting them had satisfied Ian (and pleased Mickey plenty, too), but that had only lasted for so long.

Then, the redhead had wanted more.

Ian never gave him shit about the tattoo. In fact, Mickey was pretty sure that Ian kind of loved it as much as he did. But it didn’t stop the redhead from skimming his fingers over the slight ridges that represented his hidden, misspelled name with a mix of affection and proprietary zeal. They’d been lying in bed one night, too sleepy after a hot as hell work day to do anything more than sprawl together in a pile. And as usual, Ian’s fingertips had found their way to his chest. When they’d slipped from the tattoo to Mickey’s left nipple, the brunette had thought he knew where shit was heading.

He’d been wrong.

“I want to mark you.” Ian had stated, voice strong and confident as he propped himself up on his side. Mickey had turned to meet his gaze, his own blues eyes wide and inquiring.

“The fuck...what do you mean? You’ve left enough hickies on me to mimic a beatdown.”

Ian had grinned impishly but continued. “It’s not enough. They don’t last forever.”

“This shit does.” Mickey had stated simply, holding up his left hand and waving it in front of the redhead’s face so that the gold band on his ring finger caught the residual light drifting in from outside. Ian’s face, all dark and dominant a moment before, had melted softly and immediately. Grasping Mickey’s hand, he’d pressed a hard, long kiss to the ring, then reached to run a hand through the brunette’s hair.

Then, before Mickey could catch his breath, he’d found himself flat on is back beneath the red head, pinned and straddled and helpless. His breath had hitched and his cock had jumped as he stared up into Ian’s intense green eyes. 

“That’s different. That’s...that’s our everything and we share it with everyone. Which is good. I want to share it with them. I want everyone to see those rings on our fingers and know that we belong to each other. But this, this would be something else. Because no one would know what it meant except us.”

Mickey had mulled the idea over in his head for a moment, still pinned on the bed. “What were you thinking?” he asked, feeling the giddiness building in his stomach.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,”

“Tell me.”

It hadn’t been a tattoo, not that Mickey was surprised by that. No, it had been something completely unexpected. And hot as hell. So hot, in fact, that it had taken less than two weeks from their first conversation for Mickey to find himself staring at himself shirtless in their bathroom mirror, admiring the two silver barebells that now pierced his nipples. 

And while Mickey might love them, Ian was fucking obsessed. 

He was shifting now, kissing his way up Mickey’s torso and fastening his mouth flat around one of the red nubs, laving and suckling as the brunette mewled and squirmed. There was no way to stay still now. With one hand, the redhead pulled the thick ribbon out of Mickey’s mouth, letting it hang limply around his neck while his moans echoed through the room. With his other hand, Ian was slicking his cock, lining it up and pushing through Mickey’s tender furl. He thrust with measured but forceful strokes until he was deep inside the brunette and Mickey’s breaths were leaving him in hitching gasps. He spent an additional few minutes using his dick to tease the hell out of his imprisoned spouse. Then, leaning back on his haunches, he drove inside of the brunette as deeply as he possibly could. And froze.

“The fuck…”Mickey spit, yanking instinctively on his bound wrists, but Ian pressed a single finger to his lips. 

“Shhhh,” he murmured, and Mickey could feel himself gentling instantly under the touch. His body went limp against the mattress, too well trained by this point to resist that voice. Above him, Ian continued to hold himself flush and hard and deep inside of him, but he made no attempt to move. Instead, he reached over and pulled a bottle and a small box off of the bedside table. 

Mickey stared at them, intrigued. Had they been there the whole time and he just hadn’t noticed? It was too late to ask now, because Ian was leaning down, shifting his girth inside of Mickey’s body and drawing a cry out of the brunette as he moved.

“Now, you’re going to need to stay completely still,” the redhead whispered against his ear, “I need to put the present on.”

“You got me a present?” Mickey teased as Ian sat back.

“I got  _ me  _ a present,” he answered, picking up the box and laying it on Mickey’s stomach. 

Fuck, now he couldn’t move. He couldn’t see what Ian was doing. He heard the bottle open, heard some liquid being poured, and suddenly, the cool sensation of a drenched medical swab was rubbing over his still sensitive right nipple. He gasped at the slight sting, only to receive a light smack on the side of his ass from his captor. Then, he felt a sudden, loosening tug on the side of the barbell that pierced the freshly cleaned skin. 

“Don’t…” he sputtered, pulling on the bonds again. “You’re not...don’t take…”

There were hints of actual panic in his voice, but he should have known that Ian wasn’t going to let that stand. Running a hand through Mickey’s hair, the redhead took a gently hold of it and, slowly but firmly, pressed his head back down to the bed, leaning over him in the process. 

“I would never take them out. Do you really think I would?” he asked against Mickey’s mouth. The brunette felt sheepish as hell for his moment of panic and he met Ian’s eyes as the other man continued to pin his head firm and massage over his scalp.

“Do you need to see?” he asked, his voice honestly inquiring as he stared down at him. But it was easy for Mickey to shake his head ‘no’. 

“I’m good,” he answered, keeping his voice clear. Above him, Ian nodded consideringly, then smiled and leaned back. 

“It’s my present,” he stated, continuing his little project while rocking his cock just so slightly inside Mickey’s hypersensitive channel, “but I promise that you’re going to love the hell out of them.” He finished up with one side and switched to the other, repeating the steps. “And you’ll know exactly what they mean.”

Mickey let his eyes fall closed and his teeth bite into his lower lip. His body was strung so damn tight, which was Ian’s evil plan, of course, but he was going to lay still, despite the thrumming pleasure emanating from redhead’s subtle assault on his ass. This helped sometimes, to close his eyes, when Ian set out to make him aware of every fucking nerve ending in his body. Maybe he should ask for the blindfold?

“No, nope, you need to see them.” The redhead answered, clearly reading his expression. Leaning back again, he reached over to the table a final time, grabbing one more part of his plan. Holding up a mirror, he grinned triumphantly. “Tell me what you think.”

Mickey’s mouth went dry. His nipples were red, bright and puffy and tender to the eyes. They stood out against the beautiful, intricate pattern of phoenix feathers, easy to see even in the dim light. But now, instead of being flanked by the simple, surgical steel balls that had held his piercing gauges in place for the past eleven months, there were cabochon cut blue stones resting above a tiny band of Celtic knotwork. And suddenly, Mickey understood. The knots were a subtle but clear reminder of the games he and Ian liked to play, but the blue was the color of his ocean. A tribute to their new life and new home. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice almost reverant as he stared at the new adornments. 

“You like them?” Ian teased above him, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, fuck, yes...please…”he tried for cohesive thoughts but now Ian was thrusting lightly inside him again and his mind was mush but his body was fire and he just couldn’t even...fucking…”Please…”

“Shhh,” Ian murmured again, gently, infuriatingly. Mickey could feel the redhead beginning to thrust harder, just enough to rock his body gently against the bed. Both of Ian’s hands were resting on his chest, using the newly attached beads to twirl the metal bars inside of his tender skin. With one hand, the redhead let go and skimmed down to the base of his cock. He encircled the throbbing shaft and pumped only three times before Mickey was done. He cried out, loud and desperate and unabashed, his body arching up off the mattress as his warm seed spilled onto his stomach. 

He was a wreck, utterly and completely, when he collapsed against the mattress, fighting for his breath. And that was when Ian decided to lean over him and whisper, “you’d better hold on,” in his ear. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, this chapter includes negotiation and piercing.
> 
> Second, this whole story is going to be pretty smutty. Also, this is a story. I want it to show respect and love between partners, but I also realize there are certain physical and emotional safety discussions, as well as general hygiene basics, that aren't addressed but would need to be abided by, which have been left out because they would disrupt the flow or take readers out of the moment. Please accept this as an acknowledgement that such considerations have been given due regard. This whole universe takes place pre-season 8, but let's just all agree to assume that Ian has a strong appreciation of sexual hygiene and that the two of them practice such things, even if it isn't explicitly stated in the story.


	3. Ian Thinks Things Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy day in Mexico

**March 14, 2024**

Time heals wounds. Ian Gallagher knew this. But he also knew that healing and forgetting were two different things. He and Mickey had moved forward. They’d managed to put much of their pain and damage behind them. But that didn’t mean they’d forgotten it. And it sure as fuck didn’t mean that the shit couldn’t pull a U-turn on them and come back hard, usually at the worst of times 

Fucking Terry Milkovich had taken a lot from Ian in his life. He’d taken even more from Ian’s husband. But somehow, fate had fallen on their side and here they both were, safe in Mexico and thriving. And married. Oh, Ian hoped that racist, homophobic Nazi prick knew they were married. He hoped Terry knew that, hoped he knew that Mickey took it every night, that Ian gave it to him and good and hard and that Mickey fucking loved it.

But it wasn’t always like that. Sometimes it was soft. Sometimes it was gentle and playful and warm, the kind of lovemaking that Augustin had seemed to suggest to Ian several years back when he first gave him the fancy black box. It still kind of blew Ian’s mind, that they had come that far. They could fuck rough and play rough and that had always seemed typical, but now they could fuck and play delicately, too. It didn’t scare either one of them anymore, didn’t generate too many opportunities for dark thoughts to worm their way in. And that was why Ian loved it so much. There was nothing else that could possibly underscore just how much Mickey had thrown off the shackles of their old world as much as his complete surrender to Ian in these quiet, calm, moments. Moments where his loud-mouthed, bad-ass husband when meek and pliant and obedient and trusting.

Ian glanced down to where the brunette sprawled, soundly sleeping against his chest. The blindfold was still securely wrapped around Mickey’s eyes, blotting out all vision. It was the original one, the gift from Ivan and Augustin, but it was sturdy and built to last and Micky seemed to place a certain amount of trust in the specific articles they used in their play. The original blindfold and cords, the thick ribbon gag and the earplugs they’d added later, each of these possessed their own power, like talismans to ward off any evil and usher in a cocoon of trust. 

Ian had fucked Mickey hard earlier. He’d put the other man on his hands and knees with the blindfold and industrial earplugs in place. The redhead was well aware of what the lack of sound and vision did to the experience. Mickey had also fucked him a number of times throughout their marriage, and Ian had put himself on the receiving end of most of their toys himself. It was comforting, sometimes, to give up the control instead of assuming it, and Ivan had told him, wisely, that personally understanding the submissive aspect would make the dominant role more pleasing for himself and his partner. 

So he knew that the earplugs and blindfold did their job and that everything he’d ever heard about the loss of one sense increasing the intensity of the others was true. He knew it and loved it and so did Mickey. They fucking _ loved _ it. So yeah, he’d fucked Mickey fast and hard before, while the brunette shook apart around him. It had sent Mickey straight over the edge, so he’d gathered him into his arms and held him against his chest until his husband’s panting breaths had softened into the steady rhythm of sleep.

But rest time was over now. Ian could feel Mickey coming awake. His chest was rising quicker, but more importantly, his cock was plumping against Ian’s thigh. And it gave the redhead awesome ideas. 

Reaching up a hand, he curled it around the back of Mickey’s head, trapping the brunette against his own skin. Waking up would probably always be a vulnerable time for Mickey, so he held the brunette close, letting him feel and smell his lover all around him. It didn’t take long for Mickey to go limp and receptive against his side.

“Good boy,” he murmured, though Mickey couldn’t hear him. Instead, he ran his hand through the thick brown locks in a gesture they both now recognized as praise. The brunette didn’t say a word, but he pressed light, warm kisses against Ian’s skin and nuzzled his cheek gently.

“I know, you want to be played with,” he murmured, shifting slightly and holding the other man flush against him. “Don’t you fucking worry. I’ll play.”

The bottle of lube was still lying next to him and Ian reached for it with one hand, keeping the other splayed between Mickey’s shoulder blades. The brunette’s strong thighs were parting, sliding down around Ian’s own hip. And already, Micky was starting to rut gently against him as little mewling noises escaped his throat. 

“That’s it,” he encouraged, letting his hand drift down and cup Mickey’s ass, rocking the brunette’s body against him encouragingly. The momentum picked up and Mickey’s arms crept up and around Ian’s shoulders, giving him the leverage he needed to tease his cock against Ian’s thigh. Harder and harder, he built the motion, until he was panting hotly against Ian’s chest. 

And suddenly, Ian grabbed his ass with both hands and forced him to a complete stop.

Mickey didn’t actually speak.. There was no point. He couldn’t hear Ian’s answer and unless his words were safewords, they’d be ignored anyway. He gave a whine of protest, but that only made Ian hold him more firmly, grinding all of his delicious friction to a halt.

“Not that fast, baby,” Ian whispered against his hair. Letting go of Mickey’s ass with one hand, Ian uncapped the lube bottle and carefully managed to slick his palm, sliding it in between their bodies and wrapping his fingers around Mickey’s erection. The brunette moaned but stayed obediently still as Ian lightly coated the shaft and pressed it flush against his hip again. He switched hands quickly, bringing the unlubed one up to tangle his fingers in Mickey’s hair again, while the other cradled both globes of the brunette’s ass. 

“Easy now,” he whispered, feeling his own cock leap to full hardness as Mickey began to grind against him again, now with small, measured strokes.

Yeah, this was fucking perfect. Ian let his body relax against the bed. Mickey understood the rules now. He wouldn’t break them. No, instead he’d diligently use Ian’s body to torture his own. The redhead let his own eyes fall closed for a minute, the better to drink in the sensations. Mickey was tight against him, rocking firmly but gently against Ian’s thigh, clearly aware that he was only allowed to tease himself. Each thrust was precise and perfect, creating friction as their warm skin slid together. 

Raising his head slightly, the redhead let himself examine his husband’s face. Mickey’s cheek was pillowed against his chest, his mouth wide open, puffing out deep, frantic breaths as he fought to contain himself. It was such a pretty picture, those beautiful lips so perfectly wide, his face contorting so desperately. And yet, there was no sign of increased speed, no indication that the brunette was going to break the rules. That was the most beautiful part of this; how easily Mickey slipped into compliance. He’d had the brunette riding his thigh for ten full minutes now, slowly tormenting himself with just enough pleasure to keep him hard and needy but not enough to push him over the edge. And Ian wasn’t done yet. No, he wanted to make this more interesting. 

His hand was still cupping Mickey’s perfect ass, gentling rocking with the brunette’s thrusts, but now he shifted it, let one long finger caress the crease until it found the soft, sensitive skin within. He teased at the opening, feeling Mickey’s breath turn into tiny, mewling cries as the tip of one finger breached the hole and began to penetrate. Slowly, perfectly, it sank in all the way up to the knuckle, which only added to Mickey’s decadent suffering. 

The brunette was louder now. Each shift of his hips drew a passionate cry that made Ian’s own cock twitch. Tightening his hand in Mickey’s hair, he pulled the brunette’s head back, arching his spine lightly. At the same time, he crooked the finger he’d buried in Mickey’s channel. The reaction was immediate and fucking perfect. Mickey’s mouth fell open, and real, frantic wails began to echo out of his mouth. His arms still curled beneath Ian’s shoulders, making the arch of his back more intense. But his hips kept grinding, never losing a stroke. 

For a moment, Ian just admired the view. Tiny droplets of sweat were running down Mickey’s throat and Ian let himself lap at them, drawing even more noise out of the other man. Leaning up a little further, Ian let his tongue trace the outline of Mickey’s mouth, open wide and panting, before teasingly plunging inside. It was an awkward fucking angle to hold, and his upper back protested almost immediately, but Ian just didn’t give a shit. He loved drinking in Mickey’s cries too much.

He lasted a full minute more, but eventually, he needed to move them along. Settling himself carefully back down against the mattress, he withdrew his hand, grinning at Mickey’s despairing wail as he suddenly found himself empty. 

“Don’t you fucking worry, baby.” he mouthed as he made quick use of the lube bottle again, spreading only a thin coating on his own shaft. Then, he seized a firm hold of Mickey’s hips and dragged the brunette up, straddling him across his lap. Without a moment to recover, he pulled his husband down until the head of his cock found the ready opening and caught on the rim.

“Fuh…” Mickey cried out, his face screwing up in pleasure as he sat up straight. The natural movement caused him to slide further down Ian’s shaft and they both gasped, mouths wide with silent cries as they tried to come to terms with the heat. Mickey’s hands found Ian’s chest quickly, and he rocked himself down the full length, until his thighs splayed wide and his ass sat flush against Ian’s groin. Then he paused, ever the good listener, and waited for permission to move. 

Ian smiled. He let his gaze commit the view to memory. He let his fingertips graze over the nipple rings proprietarily, but only for a moment. Reaching down, he threaded his fingers together with Mickey’s, brought both to the brunette’s hips, and encouraged him to rock. Above him, Mickey’s breath hitched and a beatific smile split his lips. Mickey understood these rules, too. He couldn’t stop until he came untouched. 

Slowly, Mickey began to ride him, each shift of his hips hard and purposeful. Ian loved how Mickey fucked. It was as beautiful as the way he swam, his whole body flowing together in long, ribbony movements. But Ian was losing his own discipline now. He needed to come and he needed to watch Mickey fly apart again, too. He needed his husband to be sated and clinging again, falling into trusting sleep against his body. With a devious grin, Ian pulled their hands out and away from their bodies, pulling Mickey down with him. At first, the brunette tried to catch himself, but Ian was having none of it. Twisting his hands free, Ian caged Mickey’s wrists across the small of his back and held them in a loose pin. 

It was a risky move, Ian knew, and for a moment, Mickey’s movement ground to a halt. In his own fantasies, Ian would have loved nothing more than to have used one of the silk cords to bind Mickey’s wrists, leaving his own hands free to explore his husband’s body, but he’d never push that issue. Mickey had embraced trust and obedience. He had found the courage to give himself over to Ian in moderate helplessness. But that; the utter defenselessness of being blind, deaf and bound at the same time, would always be Mickey’s hard no. This was a compromise, and one he made more for Mickey than himself. The brunette hated the fact that he had a fear, a line he couldn’t cross, but being pinned by Ian’s arms had always felt less intimidating. It was as close to the line as Mickey could get, and Ian always made sure to give him a minute to decide. Sure enough, the brunette huffed out a deep breath and let himself go limp and accepting against Ian’s chest. It made Ian’s heart swell with pride.

“That’s it, Mick,” he murmured, “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

Planting his feet against the bed, Ian began to drive up into the brunette. Hard.

Micky’s moans turned to shrieks almost immediately. Ian could feel the frantic tautness in his lover’s body everywhere they touched, as they chased their climax in perfect sync. They were rocking together mindlessly now, meeting each other thrust for thrust as filthy sounds poured out of Mickey’s mouth and flowed over them both. And suddenly, the brunette tipped over the edge, his back and neck arching up and away from Ian’s chest as his mouth screwed open in a silent scream. But Ian didn’t stop. He couldn’t by then. He plundered Mickey’s body for a few more thrusts, as the brunette cried out from the onslaught. And finally, finally, he exploded into stars. 

His hands were trembling as he lifted them to Mickey’s face, sliding the blindfold off. The brunette was already removing the earplugs, leaning over to drop them on the nightstand before collapsing onto Ian’s chest again. 

Ian wrapped his arms around his husband, repositioning him back against his side as they both began to drift away.

“So,” he teased, “You almost ready for round three?”

“Fuul..clcl..ff...ccr….ch” Mickey muttered into his side.

“What was that? I didn’t catch that.”

Mickey hauled his head up and met Ian’s eyes. “Fuck you, Firecrotch,” he repeated in crisp, clean syllables, pressing a kiss to Ian’s lips before he let his head drop back down on the redhead’s chest. 

He was asleep in seconds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sensory Deprivation, but nothing extreme
> 
> I'm switching the order of some of these scenes around. Honestly, I wanted a scene with some bondage and submission elements in it as told from Ian's perspective to take place before I published any from Mickey's, so readers are very aware of the kind of care and decision making that goes on in Ian's head at these times. Also, some of the other ones I've written are FAR more intense (in my opinion) then other things I've written so I'm really trying to psych myself up to publish them. Bottom line, though, while I've re-read this and the other scenes a bunch and I think I've fixed everything pertinent, if anyone notices any timeline inconsistencies along the way, please let me know.


	4. Mickey talks truth (Interlude Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months before Ian's surprise visit to Escopar, Mickey has a heart to heart with a good friend.

**September, 2019**

Mickey didn’t drink much anymore. It wasn’t good for him or his work. So he just...didn’t. Besides, he didn’t really need it like he used. It had been a long time since he had to self-medicate his everyday life away.

This moment was no different and that’s probably what made the indulgence more enjoyable. Ivan and Augustin lived a life of sophisticated hedonism, but even their greatest excesses were always undertaken in a frame of moderation. The cognac he was sipping at was a perfect example. Mickey had no idea where it came from. Probably some private supplier only available to the super rich. Ivan always poured it from a cut crystal decanter into matching tumblers, only two fingers at a time, then sipped it slowly, letting it mellow on his tongue. He’d taught Mickey how to do the same, how to let each sip alight on his taste buds, allowing his to discern different layers in the mix. 

At first, Mickey had hated that shit. It had seemed like a huge waste of time. But Ivan had worn him down. The Frenchman’s approach was the opposite of his partner’s when it came to dealing with Mickey. Augustin liked to draw answers out, to study the brunette like a painting, to win him over with careful debate. Ivan’s preferred method was just to dare Mickey to try. And it didn’t matter what it was. The cocky French bastard’s approach usually worked. 

It was working now. Mickey let himself take another sip of his cognac and stared across the polished wooden table at his friend. Ivan was swirling his own drink, a careful smile on his lips, but he wasn’t pressing for an answer. He was waiting quietly and Mickey suddenly realized that the older man was watching to see if he reverted back to old behavior; if he just threw the reddish amber liquid back like a double shot as a means of coping with their current topic of discussion. 

He wasn’t going to do that shit though. He’d fucking evolved or whatever. And to prove that, to Ivan and himself, he took a careful sip and let the liquid linger. And while he did, he considered his answer to the question.

“I have tried,” he admitted finally, “I mean, not the elaborate shit you’re all into, but I didn’t always treat sex like it was just a substitute for jerking off,” He felt his chest tighten and he glanced up at the older man, but Ivan’s face was open and considering. It was still so new to Mickey, this complete lack of judgement, that sometimes he still doubted that it was genuine. But he was evolving in that regard, too.

“ For a while,” he continued, “I really never fucked guys. Or did anything with them. It was too damn risky. But I couldn’t shake it, couldn’t get it out of my system.”

“No, it does not work that way,” Ivan agreed and Mickey nodded, leaning forward and clutching a little defensively at the crystal tumbler.

“I get that now, but then…So I did some shit with guys, fucked a few, but it wasn’t really what I wanted. I mean, I liked it a hell of a lot more than I liked chicks but..it just wasn’t what I wanted. So that’s when I first got the idea to try to get my hands on some shit. It was nothing crazy. Just a dildo and some ben wa balls.”

“Really?” Ivan’s brown raised. 

“Yeah. What?”

The Frenchman only smirked. “That is a bit edgier than I would've thought, given your description of you past life, but then, you never cease to surprise. Did you enjoy them?”

“Fuck no.” The words were out of his mouth before Mickey could consider more discretion, but then, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. He tended to be an uncontrollable open book when it came to Augustin and Ivan. Might as well get it over with. 

“I mean, I used them a lot, but that isn’t what I mean. What happened...so when I first starting fucking…”

“Ian?” Ivan provided carefully.

“Yeah...yeah. So he was the first guy I ever let, like, do me all the time. And then, I was just screwed. Once I knew what that was like, I couldn’t go back. So one day, when we’d been doing this shit for about two years or so and were starting to be like, real together, I tried to share them with him.”

Ivan nodded, holding his gaze. “Did he respond poorly?”

Mickey shook his head. “No. I mean, he teased me a little, but he wasn’t an asshole about it. I think he would’ve been pretty into it. But no, that was...fuck…”

“We do not…”

“No, it’s just...remember how I told you Terry caught us? It was then. Literally, that exact fucking minute.” 

Mickey could feel his body growing hot a the awful memory and he tore his eyes away from Ivan’s assessing stare and let his gaze drift out over the water. As usual, the lapping waves calmed him.

“I never brought it up again,” he answered finally, drawing in a deep breath. “Even when we got back together, even when shit was pretty good for awhile...it just felt like I’d, I don’t know, reached too high or some shit. Like I’d wanted too much and the fucking south side kicked me back down and warned me not to get too greedy.”

Mickey sat back in his chair and drew in a deep breath. He took another careful sip of his cognac and kept his gaze fixed on the ocean. Fuck, he was so tired of Terry having this kind of control over him. Across the table, Ivan said nothing, sitting calmly and waiting while Mickey found his composure. It was one of the things he appreciated the most about the two frenchmen. They were patient. They probed but never demanded. They let Mickey set the pace and make the decisions. Not like some people.

No...no...fuck no...he wasn’t going there. That topic was too raw, even for this conversation. 

“Mikhailo?”

Mickey glanced back across the table, reeled back in and away from destructive thoughts. Ivan was good at knowing when to do that, too. The chestnut haired man’s expression was assessing as he took his own sip from his glance. 

“I know, I know, that stuff is bullshit.”

“Perhaps, but it feels real. And you need not deny that much of your life has been unfairly challenging. That is not paranoia or foolishness. It is a fact.” A sly smile split Ivan’s lips, “But that is changing now, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Mickey acknowledged, his own lips curling up, “Still can’t always believe this shit.”

“That will take time. But it will come.” Placing his empty tumbler on the table, Ivan rose to his feet and moved to the edge of the balcony, staring out into the distance. “The weather looks excellent tomorrow. You are off, yes?”

Mickey nodded.

“Good. Then perhaps you will take me to this lagoon you found? I would very much like to see it.”

Mickey just grinned.

Two months later, Mickey opened the door to his new home on the resort, the unused loft space over the fleet garage. It was a perfect space, in his opinion, open and bright and private. And all his. He took a moment to put his clean gear away, then headed to the shower to do a more thorough washing then the dock hose would provide. Heading back out into the living room, still toweling off, he noticed the velvety bag on his little dining room table, and the fancy linen envelope propped up against it.

He recognized Ivan’s fluid, lopping handwriting immediately.

_ For when you are ready... _

...read the simple note.

He picked up the bag carefully. Something heavy and moveable clacked together inside of it. Pulling the drawstring open, he reached his hand into the bag. 

An hour later, he was still seated at his dining room table, staring at the gift as his mind raced. Four orbs were spread across the rough wooden surface, connected by a sturdy cord that appeared to be silicon. There was a heavy metal ring at one end, large and practical. The orbs themselves, though, were anything but.

Slowly, Mickey picked each one up and examined it. He knew what this shit was. Augustin loved it. The fuck was it called again? Clowosin? No, cloisonne. Yeah, that was it. His friend had plates and shit made of the stuff. But this...this was something else.

Each ball was set in a blue background. Each one depicted a perfect enamel scene of the ocean, careful constructed and stunning to look at . They’d obviously been handcrafted and probably cost a fucking fortune. And they sure as hell weren’t plates. No, the rough edges of the enamel and metalwork were encased within a thin but sturdy glass lacquer, making them perfectly smooth. Perfectly slick.

Perfectly insertable.

Mickey felt hot and a little shaky, but it was not, he realized, a wholly bad feeling. There was a thrill in him as he carefully placed the balls back in their velvet sack and drew the string tight. He knew the feeling, knew it well in fact. It was anticipation.

Not yet. He wasn’t ready for those yet. He wasn’t ready to confront any aspect of that memory. 

But...someday...

  
  



	5. Mickey Shares His Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian finally get the devil off their backs and learn to dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the smuttiest thing I've ever written. All warnings are in effect.

**June 18, 2024**

Ian Gallagher had never been considered the genius in his family, but that had never really slowed him up. No, Ian learned through dogged tenacity. And Mickey was no longer surprised by the shit that his husband could figure out through shear force of will. 

It wasn’t surprise he was feeling now. The fluttering in his stomach as he held himself up on his hands and knees in the middle of their bed wasn’t surprise, or nervousness. It was something he’d felt before and hoped to feel again. It was anticipation, coiling warmly in his stomach.

Oh, what was Ian going to do?

Mickey couldn’t see what the redhead was planning and he wouldn’t bother to ask because all he’d get was a smirk. But he could feel plenty, and what he felt was intriguing. Ian had those fucking cords of his out again, not that Mickey was complaining. But whatever crazy shit Ian was doing with them was brand new. He’d taken two of them, looping one around each of the brunette’s ankles and then weaving some crazy lattice work shit up the brunette’s calves and half of his thighs. And then he’d disappeared, doing something under and behind the bed. Mickey didn’t know. What he did know was that the knots were loose. They gave him a shit ton of movement. And that wasn’t he or Ian’s style. Mickey liked to be tied up nice and tight, just where Ian preferred to have him. For a moment, the brunette wondered if Ian was about to curse, or laugh, and declare this experiment an epic failure. It had happened before. Then he’s sulk until Mickey pulled him out of it, usually with his mouth. Or he’d just crack up and they’d fall into bed together, wrestling around like idiots.

Mickey’s thoughts were suddenly yanked back to the present by a loud hum. His stomach flipped again. Oh. Okay. Yeah, he knew that sound. That was proud Ian, approving Ian. Ian who was experiencing anticipation of his own.

Fuck. What was he going to…

Mickey’s left leg was the first to move, pulled a few inches sideways as the cords suddenly went taut. The right leg followed suit. He gasped for a moment, catching himself on his arms, relaxing his body, allowing the movement to happen. Further and further they stretched as his entire knee and calf shifted towards the far sides of their bed. Oh fuck, this was no joke. His inner thighs were pulling from the strain. Mickey groaned and bit at his lip as his whole body spread further and further across the sheet. 

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped. Mickey could hear the familiar whirring sound of the cords being knotted. Drawing in a deep breath, he resisted the innate desire to pull on the bonds. Instead, he forced himself to stay perfectly still, even as tiny beads of sweat began to dot along his clavicle. Ian’s hands were on him, running up the sides of his legs and across his lower back, kneading at his ass for a moment.

Then, with a grunt and an affirming, affectionate pat, the redhead walked out into the living room, leaving him alone.

Shit!

With Ian momentarily absent, Mickey allowed himself to shift around, taking stock of his position. Oh. Yeah, now he understood. Whatever the fuck Ian had done, he’d rendered Mickey practically immobile. The ropes around his calves and knees splayed him wide and helpless across the mattress. The ones around his thighs, though, seemed to be connected to the foot of the bed, preventing him from shifting forward to relieve any of the strain. And it didn’t seem to matter what he did with his arms. Pushing up on his palms or dropping to his elbows; bowing his back and dipping his head towards the mattress or arching it up. Every position created a new burn even as it alleviated an old one. 

For a brief moment, Mickey felt a tightness in his chest, a seizing of his breath. It was always this way, it seemed, whenever he and Ian played these games. There was always a moment, a still point in the turning world, where he hovered on the brink; realizing the full extent of his physical exposure but not yet fully submitting to it in his mind. Ian was back in the room now, but out of sight, arranging things carefully on the floor behind him. Mickey knew from experience that the redhead would be in no hurry. No, Ian loved this part, loved watching him wrestle inwardly before his inevitable fall into full surrender. 

It didn’t take long.

It was the tendrils of pain that triggered it this time, the tiny knots of heat working their way into his tightly constrained hips and thighs. But if Mickey really thought about it, he knew it was okay. His body belonged to Ian now. If there was pleasure, he would enjoy it. It there was pain, he would endure it. But whatever he was given, he would accept it. The warm, floating, otherworldly cocoon of submission was descending on him, blocking out everything except Ian’s demands and his compliance. 

Already, the mixed signals were flowing over his body. Ian had split him so wide that it actually held his ass open, and the redhead was taking full advantage. With one firm hand, he cupped Mickey’s left ass cheek, letting the pad of his thumb circle lightly over the tender, exposed furl. With the other, he skimmed up over the hypersensitive, defenseless length of Mickey’s cock, teasing and milking it gently as it swelled to full hardness.

It was a whirl of sensation, a jarring, intoxicating duel between two opposing forces of heat. His thighs were already trembling slightly but who could tell if it was from the awkward position or the heavy blood flow to Mickey’s throbbing length. And then, suddenly, the hands were gone. 

Mickey opened his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them. He found himself staring hard at the smooth beige sheet beneath him. Ian had laid something on the bed and Mickey let his eyes focus in on every detail of it. Even in his haze of aching lust, he could recognize what it was. He knew that little black bag. He knew what it contained. And he knew what Ian was asking. They’d discussed it. A lot.

Now, Ian wanted to try.

The redhead caught his chin, turning his face up until their eyes met. The green gaze was intense and possessive, but Mickey could make out the question that lurked in their depths. It was his choice. Ian would give him some time to decide. 

Releasing him, his husband retreated back down to the end of the bed and placed a steadying hand on Mickey’s lower back. 

For a long moment, Mickey stared at the bag. His body was tensing and his mind was making an effort to fight through the fog that had engulfed it. But Mickey was already resolute. He wanted this. He knew it. This was the time. And he didn’t want to relive past trauma or rehash negotiations and limits. He just wanted to be quiet and feel. And Ian would do that. He would take the shit in that bag and fuck, would he make him feel!

When Ian came back a moment later, Mickey didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he let his head drop down until his brow pressed against the mattress. It shifted the pressure in his thighs and the brunette let the sharp burn focus him, pulling him fully back into his obedient fugue. He felt the displacement in the mattress as Ian picked up the bag and its weighty contents, running long fingers through Mickey’s hair as he walked back to the foot of the bed.

And Mickey waited. But not for long.

It started with a firm hand on his cock. Ian was terse and efficient, jerking him perfunctorily with the clear purpose of getting him back to full hardness. Mickey let his head stay down and his hips remain still. This wasn’t about the pleasure. It was a meer step towards other, better things. So he held himself immobile as the redhead slipped a thick ring down the length of his dick and over his balls. He stayed still as Ian pulled it tight and the beat of his pulse began to send waves up the shaft. 

He felt heat next, warm, wet heat. Ian’s mouth was on him now, laving attention against his perineum. It had become Ian’s new favorite spot, ever since he realized how sensitive Mickey was there. It was a tense, building sensation, rolling against the root of his bound cock and it drew the first true moan of the session from the imprisoned brunette.

At the sound, Mickey could feel Ian’s mouth split into a victorious grin against his tender skin, but the redhead was already moving, kissing his way up and into Mickey’s exposed ass. He licked and tongued at the tender flesh, nipping occasionally as Mickey’s thighs really began to tremble. The brunette drew in a deep breath, searching for something steadying, but he lost all semblance when something thick, smooth, and solid slid purposefully inside him. Then he was done for, digging his fingers into the sheets and whining against the mattress as he gave into the familiar sensation of being helplessly fucked on Ian’s tongue. 

His cock was trembling and fire was licking over his whole body as Ian continued the assault, driving into him deeply, licking concentrically to target and torture ever nerve ending, then sliding out of him quickly, only to plunge in again. God fucking dammit, Ian knew him too well. He knew what this did to his body and what it did to his mind. It was so invasive, so fucking...personal. And that’s why they both loved it so damn much. Fuck, Mickey could come from just this. He  _ had _ come from just this, in this room, on this bed. But not today. No, this was just a precursor, a way to work him open for other intrusions. Already, Ian was pulling out, pressing a final light peck to the tantalized pucker. An involuntary mewl crept out of Mickey at the loss, but he was rewarded with nothing more than a sharp slap on the ass. Chastened, he let his eyes screw shut and his mouth fall open, the better to cry into the sheets as Ian replaced his tongue with long and purposeful fingers.

One...Two...Three...Four…

Deeper and deeper they probed, further and further they stretched, as Mickey’s breath gave way into frantic pants and his cock bobbed, full and pulsing, against his stomach. The redhead peppered the edge of his cleft with nips, pulling tiny moans out of Mickey as he worked. And fuck, but Ian was taking his time, clearly enjoying the view as he knelt behind the brunette’s spread, supplicant form and fngered him open. 

Mickey’s mind was whirling beautifully, his senses alighted and completely out of his control. Deep down, sure, he was conscious of the things that were eliciting the perfect blend of pleasure and pain throughout his body. That understanding was thoroughly muted though, wrapped in the cottony web of willing prostration. It was the feeling that mattered, hot and sharp and forceful and perfect. He was whining fully now, his mouth falling open as Ian reached down and found his hair, dragging him up into a deep arch. His eyes fell closed again and he let himself wail wordless nonsense at the ceiling as the new angle gave Ian more inventive access to his sensitive core. It was all he needed, now, all he was. Just willing clay to be molded for Ian’s amusement.

He cried out when Ian withdrew his hands, hating the empty feeling. But he wouldn’t be empty long. No, tonight was all about him being very, very full. The mattress dipped behind him for a moment as Ian knelt on the bed and curved over his body, pulling his head back slightly farther to suckle and kiss along the column of his throat. A keen tore itself out of the brunette’s chest, echoing around them as Ian played. Fuck, fuck, so much. His hips were immobile and useless but they still pulled instinctively against the cords, searching frantically for any relief for his bound shaft. Ian’s free hand traced over his lips, stroked down his neck, skimmed over his nipples. Finally, laying a kiss on Mickey’s cheek, the redhead released his hold on the hair and fixed his hand firmly around the nape of the brunette’s neck, pressing his face back down to the mattress and leaving his ass spread open and totally vulnerable in the air.

_ Stay _

Ian didn’t have to give the command out loud. Mickey heard it anyway. 

The brunette felt his shoulders and neck go limp. His cheek pressed into the sheet as he waited. He was open and prepared and exposed. And he was ready.

His rim was slick but it still burned deliciously as Ian began to work the first ball inside of him. He couldn’t control the noises that poured out as the heavy, glass-encased metal orb was swallowed up and found purchase against the sensitive walls of his channel. Fuck! Fuck! His whole body went taut, his thighs seizing, his stomach knotting, as it tried to reconcile with the intensity. Then a second one followed, and then a third. His head whipped from side to side and arched back involuntarily as he cried out. Fuck, he was so alert, so aware. Every nerve in his body was firing rapidly as his chest heaved with panting breaths. And there was still one more.

Mickey lost his mind when the fourth ball slid inside. He simply ceased to be human. There was no conscious thought in his brain. There was no trace of words in his garbled cries. His thighs and back were screaming in need. His cock and prostate were burning with pleasure. And behind it all, just emenating smug satisfaction, was Ian fucking Gallagher. 

The redhead was on his knees behind him again, running his thumbs up and down the inside of Mickey’s cleft as he watched his lover drown in sensation. The brunette didn’t need to see the gleaming, hungry fire in those green eyes. He knew it was there. And he knew that the fire inside Ian was nowhere near ready to simmer and burn out. It was going to get hotter.

A warm hand snuck between his legs, palming his throbbing cock. Mickey could hear his keens growing wilder as the untouched flesh was suddenly teased anew. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to calm himself but the effort made him dizzy. If it hadn’t been for the ring, he’d have come explosively right then and there. But the binding did its work well and there was no relief from the touch. 

And there was no mercy from his evil genius of a lover either. Spreading his hand out fully, Ian pressed Mickey’s tortured dick upwards, pinning it against his lower abs and easily jostling the balls nestled deep inside his body. 

Mickey keened loudly as the awful, wonderful pressure inside of him instantly ratcheted up. The sound had no impact on his impish lover though. Instead, a devious laugh echoed in Mickey’s ears as Ian continued his ministrations. He could hear it clear as day, as he himself had momentarily stopped breathing. Holy...Fuck! Fuck! He couldn’t...no...it was so much. He could feel his body bearing down, completely outside of his control, which only increased the torment as the smooth orbs shifted and rocked inside him, somehow finding new nerve endings to ignite with each subtle movement. 

Fuck!

“Nah...fu...Ian…” the words slipped from between his lips, broken up by panting cries, but the redhead didn’t let that last long. Reaching around from behind, he pressed the meat of his hand between his thumb and forefinger between Mickey’s lips, reducing him back to garbled, hitching moans. The brunette immediately latched on, sucking at the intruding skin, grateful for the tiny bits of relief the simple action provided to his hypersensitized body. 

Fuck! He was so...hot...much…

Mickey didn’t move when Ian pulled away. He couldn’t form clear enough thoughts for that. Somehow, he managed to push himself up onto his fists again, which shifted the intensity wracking his body but did nothing to truly alleviate it. He sucked in deep breaths, keening and guttural at the same time, as he felt the bed shifting beneath him. He should look. He should open his eyes. He should…

A hand, firm and commanding, curled around the back of his neck again. He knew the hand, it was Ian’s hand, and when it began to draw his head downward, he complied instantly. When his lips bumped against something warm, firm, and familiar, his eyes finally flew open but he still didn’t resist. Not at all. He had no will to do anything but obey as Ian, now sprawled casually on the bed underneath him, slowly fed his own cock into his prisoner’s mouth. 

The brunette let out a relieved sigh around the huge length as it settled heavily against his tongue and the back of his throat. His mind was mush and his entire body was caught in a circuit loop of pleasure and pain but he recognized this. Glancing up, he saw Ian, relaxing into the pillows with his arms crossed lazily behind his head. His expression was muted but there was clear challenge burning in his green eyes. He’d given Mickey a clear task. Was the brunette capable?

Of course he fucking was!

He started slow. The steady bobbing of his head inevitably moved his shoulders and torso, causing the orbs to jostle and shift inside him, setting off a fresh domino effect of intensity. It was nearly too much, but the brunette forced himself to find his focus. He needed an outlet, a means of generating some relief for the wash of sensation flowing through his body. And he had it.

Ian’s face had been calm and stoic when he’d first pulled Mickey down onto him, but as the brunette began to service him with real purpose, the impassivity quickly bled away. Focused intently on his work, Mickey only was vaguely aware of his husband pushing up on his elbows. He could see Ian’s stomach fluttering and his head falling back. He felt a frisson of satisfaction when the redhead let out his own low moan and begun to thrust up. He fucked Mickey’s mouth lightly at first, but the bound man was intent on his task. It didn’t take long for Ian to start thrusting hard, fast, and erratic as the brunette put his considerable skill set to work, laving and suckling with everything he had. And then there was more heat, and Mickey’s world contracted a little more, all of his torture and all of his bliss disappearing until nothing mattered but Ian’s cock spilling in his throat. 

Ian sank back against the pillows, one hand buried in Mickey’s hair. It was perfect and steadying and Mickey clung to the sensation, settling his cheek against the firm warmth of Ian’s groin as the softening shaft slipped from his mouth. They lay there for long moments, both breathless as Ian took a moment to bask in his sated dominion. And that was good, too. 

With a final stroke through Mickey’s hair, Ian withdrew his hand and slinked out from beneath him, leaving the brunette staring blankly down at the sheet again. Stripped of his exquisite distraction, Mickey’s mouth fell open unbidden as he gave off a low cry. Holy fuck, this again...too much. The orbs, the thick, ardent fullness of them was turning his whole body tender. Once again, his hips flexed and tossed unbidden, desperate to find some relief for his clenching channel and tumid cock. Once again, there was none to be had. His calves and thighs were as fixed and immobile as they had been, hours or days or years ago, when Ian had first spread him and bound him across their bed. 

The whir of the silk cords sliding against each other shocked him for a moment. ... _ the fuck... _ his brain managed. There was no way Ian was untying him, was there? But suddenly, his mindlessly tossing hips found a little relief. His legs were still held wide but now he could shift forward a few inches. The movement shocked him, as the heavy weight of the orbs rocked inside him and his own engorged dick slapped roughly against his stomach. His body seized and froze as his mind tried to understand the sudden change circumstances. He knew very little right now, his mind still largely mush, but one thing he could say for certain was that Ian would never just give him relief or freedom. No, this was just a new game and, based on the redhead’s movements behind him, Mickey was about to learn the rules.

Coming up alongside of him, Ian held out his new offering; an extra thick pillow in a silky case. For a moment, Mickey only stared at it, his foggy brain too confused to understand. But when the redhead grinned evilly and slide it between Micky’s widespread thighs, it suddenly made perfect, devilish sense. 

Mickey’s cock, full, straining and bound, suddenly exploded in a new wave of awful ecstasy as the silky material cradled it. And there was no fucking escape, his thighs spread too far to pull away. The pillow’s thickness swaddled his full length deep inside it and though his body fought the bonds and frantically shifted positions, it was no use. 

Mickey couldn’t think. He couldn’t breath. All he could do was feel. His body had fallen under the spell of pure lust, pulling and shifting and thrusting wildly as frantic adrenaline pulsed everywhere. But there was no escape and no relief to be had. Every desperate movement only further heightened the sensation and saturated his senses. He was whining again, his forehead pressed into the bedclothes and lolling back and forth. His entire body was shivering.

He was aware of Ian somewhere in the room, watching and enjoying the show, but Mickey had no idea where he actually was until a warm hand ran up and over his ass and settled in the middle of his lower back. Fingers splayed out, he momentarily caressing the skin. And then, with a firm hand, he pushed Mickey down deep into the pillow and rocked his body forward. 

“Ahh!” the brunette screamed out, his back arching as his oversensitive cock slid across the slippery fabric. Fuck...fuck...fucking… He wailed and sobbed as Ian continued to rock him back and forth. His body was in heated agony now, overloaded beyond anything he could comprehend. And yet, of course, when Ian removed his hand, Mickey’s hips set their own involuntary pace. Ian had stepped back again and now it was just him, bound on his bed, frantically humping the pillow even as he cried out and writhed against the overwhelming sensation. Each movement tormented his weeping cock. Each shift incited his clenching channel. 

Fuck! Whatever meager control Mickey had been able to exert over himself was simply gone now. Ian had introduced a fresh new hell and the brunette had no means to fight it. His body had been awakened and stimulated in every possible way, but the redhead had pushed him to a new precipice. Every thrust of his hips, every glide and caress of soft silk against his throbbing length, should have been enough. Every shift of the orbs inside of him should have been the key. They should have been the trigger, the thing to drag a mind blowing orgasm out of him. But he couldn’t. The ring that circled his balls and cock was do a fine job of holding that off.

And he had nothing left, no way to fight it. His body was utterly Ian’s now, and it would continue to desperately rut for as long as the redhead required it to. 

How long would that be? Mickey didn’t know. His body felt light, a bit unreal, as if his skin and bones were disappearing, exposing his nerves to Ian’s questing touch. The redhead was behind him again, toying lightly with the thick metal ring at the base of the toy he’d slid inside Mickey an eternity ago. And suddenly, there was a firm tug, a burning jolt of fresh pleasure, and one of the glass orbs was outside of his body.

FUCK!

Mickey keened, his hips stuttering momentarily against the pillow. If he’d thought that removing on of the balls would give him any relief, he was quickly disabused of that notion. His body, suddenly emptier but still unsated, rebelled furiously, clenching down around the remaining orbs, frantically trying to milk pleasure out of their intrusion. Then another was gone and Mickey was crying out, wailing and huffing at the sweet, pulsing burn.  _ NO _ ! Over and over, he begged in his mind,  _ No, please don’t take them all out.  _ No he needed them, needed the perfect fullness, needed the weight of them pummeling the base of his shaft. Ian’s fingers were playing again, toying with his sensitive hole.  _ No Ian, don’t. Don’t take them all out.  _ Again and again, he begged in his mind, but words wouldn’t come. He didn’t have the strength to make them anymore. All he had was a mulish determination to grind his dick into the pillow as he hovered on the edge. 

He nearly jumped when he felt something warm and hard against the tender skin of his ass. It took a moment for his hazy mind to comprehend what he was feeling. Oh, thank fuck. Ian wasn’t removing them all. Instead, he was holding one of the freshly slicked balls back up against the sensitive furl. Micky gritted his teeth, waiting for the burn, but no. There was nothing. Just the smooth feel of the glass against his skin. Ian held it firm, rocking along with his thrusting hips, but he made no effort to push it past the tight ring of muscle.

Mickey whined. It was the closest he could get to begging since words had deserted him, but the sound had no effect on Ian, who continued to hold the orb flush against his skin. But while Mickey’s mind may have fallen into feral mush, his body was more intuitive. His hips thrust back hard, causing the little furl to open slightly for the questing orb. And suddenly, Micky did understand. If he wanted the ball back inside of him, he’d have to fuck it back in himself. 

What his mind could make of the situation didn’t matter. His body knew exactly what to do. His hips thrust harder, pressing back against the slick glass, pushing through the burn as the little furl opened and received. His body swallowed it greedily, bearing down on the welcome intrusion as fresh electricity pulsed through his cock. He spasmed furiously, his body so tight and needy and close. His arms pushed up automatically, arching his back and drawing the balls in even deeper. And this time, when Ian pushed the final orb to his entrance, his body wasted no time, pressing back hard and taking it in deep. 

Fire. That’s all he was now. Fire and pinging sensation and desperate, torturous need. His back was arched sharply, his head thrown back as he humped and wailed and frantically chased an elusive climax. He couldn’t...it was too...fucking FUCK! Garbled, lust drunk nonsense was pouring out of his throat, his breath was hitching and his heart was pounding powerfully against his chest. He was breaking, done. He was no longer sure of who or where or what he was. He just knew that Ian had set him to a task and that he needed to see it through. 

Fuck! Fuck! 

There was heat behind him, the warmth of Ian’s body kneeling between his bound calves. And suddenly, there was something new pressing against him, hard and slick and questing. He felt Ian seize his thrusting hips, felt the press of warm flesh, and suddenly the thick tip of Ian’s own cock slipped inside of him and nestled right against his rim.

“I got you now,” the redhead murmured, licking at his ear as he reached around him. Over and over, Mickey panted and cried, huffing and keening as the redhead rocked inside the mouth of his sensitive sheath. The orbs pressed inside him, igniting and caressing as the redhead’s thick tip drove them even deeper. His cock flushed, pulsed, strained for relief. And still he kept rutting and grinding and obeying. 

He felt Ian’s fingers as they searched, as they settled around the thick leather strap that imprisoned his dick, that held his relief at bay. He felt the grin against his cheek as leaned in close again. 

“Good boy,” the redhead praised against his ear, “Go ahead.”

And with a twist of his fingers, he released the leather catch.

For a moment, there was nothing. Just a slight twist in his stomach. Then, a ball of volcanic heat rippled through his whole body. His climax exploded, burning through all of his extremities, knotting in his chest, pulsing through his shaft. He caught himself on his forearms as his head fell forward, as his whole form continued to roll and sing and come. And it wasn’t stopping. He’d ride out one crest only to feel another building behind it, again and again. And every time he felt like he might be granted a reprieve, his tormentor would aid and abet. 

Ian caught him around the chin, pulling him back against his chest, holding him their firmly as he stroked his own shaft, until he filled Mickey with his own heat and set off a fresh round of pulsing, tortured pleasure. Then he milked Mickey’s own sensitive length, light and gentle and hellish, drawing drop after out of him as he cried and jibbered and begged. And finally, finally, after an eternity of blissful agony, when Mickey was spent and exhausted and shooting air, he laid him down against the bedsheets and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. 

“That was fun.”

Mickey lay immobile. He couldn’t move if he tried. His mind was a blank and his body felt unreal, as if he were falling through the bed and hovering on a cloud. He was vaguely aware of Ian carefully removing the balls and the cords, of him sliding the pillow out and laying Mickey flat against the bed. He was aware of warm water and soft clothes on his skin. But it all felt surreal, as if it were happening to another person’s body. His own was gone. Ian had absorbed it completely. 

And Mickey was just fine with that.

The bed dipped, finally, as Ian crawled up alongside him, throwing a leg over the back of of Mickey’s one thigh and using a hand to catch the other, bending the knee and drawing it up at an angle. With his other arm, he reached under Mickey’s neck and cradled his cheek, leaning over his back so that he could pull the brunette’s face up to meet his. Mickey’s eyes were closed. He couldn’t muster the strength to open them, but when Ian’s tongue probed at his lips, he relented easily. And he gladly let Ian drink in his fresh moans when the redhead began to massage the knots from his leg. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I'm dying to know what people thought of this.


	6. Ian Honors Bleachers and Dugouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing turns Ian on more than a happy, healthy Mickey.

**August 3, 2024**

“Gallagher, I swear to fuck, if anyone sees us I’m going to feed you your own fucking balls!”

Light spilled out of the two story house that Ian had dragged Mickey out of two minutes ago, but the little bench they’d found way in the back of the garden was mostly shrouded in darkness. It was a cloudless night but the moon was new and dim, leaving them fairly well hidden.

Mickey wasn’t too convinced, though, and Ian could understand that. After all, the whole house was filled with the brunette’s closest friends and classmates from school. They all knew and loved Ian and respected who he was to Mickey. The two of them lived completely open lives on campus and around town, as well as on the resort grounds. But still, Ian guessed there was a big difference between Mickey bringing his husband to his friend’s party and Mickey letting all the guests at said party watch while the husband railed him in the back garden. 

And Ian was going to rail him. They both knew that was a foregone conclusion. There were so many things about Mickey that got Ian hot, but the brunette had spent the whole night walking around in a thin linen button up and cargo shorts, with leather flip flops on his feet, some light stubble on his cheeks and his hair mussed from the ocean breeze. He looked beautiful, wiped clean of any of the old neighborhood scars that used criss cross every inch of his soul. And when he got talking, about the water, his fish, his coral bodies, everyone in the room would engage. Everyone here valued him. Everyone here respected what he had to say. It made Ian’s heart swell.

It made other parts of him swell, too. And that’s why he’d finally kidnapped his husband out the back door for a quickie in the garden. 

Mickey glanced back towards the house again. “I don’t know man, I think they’ll be able to see,” He murmured, but Ian was already sinking down on the bench and yanking Mickey to him, pulling his legs up and around his waist and letting his calves dangle over the back. He drew their mouths together, cutting off the brunette’s words, but he found himself glancing over Mickey’s shoulder even as he slipped his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Yeah, if anyone really came out to look, there was a decent chance they’d be able to see them. But fuck it, they were both already hard as hell. They’d make it quick. 

Turning his full attention back to Mickey, Ian let his fingers drift to the first button on his shirt. Immediately the brunette pulled their mouths apart. “Don’t fucking rip it!” he demanded.

“Don’t worry, princess,” Ian sassed back, chasing Mickey’s lips back down as he slipped the shirt off his arms and flung it away. Wrapping an arm around the brunette’s waist, Ian let his lips wander down Mickey’s throat and across his chest, satisfied that the other man was firmly in the moment. Then he let his mouth have some fun, moving his free hand to cup the brunette’s pec, giving him a better angle to suck the pierced nub up into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Mickey whispered, and his head dropped backwards as Ian drifted back and forth, teasing one nipple, then the other, and laving kisses and nips along his shoulders and clavicle. “The fuck you always got to torture me?”

“Cause you love it,” Ian answered honestly, cradling the back of the brunette’s head and pulling their foreheads together. A smile split Mickey’s lips as Ian ran his hand down his chest and cupped his swelling shaft through his pants. “See,” he whispered against the blue-eyed man’s smile, “You fucking love it.”

Mickey quirked a brow. Then he was in movement, pushing himself back to his feet and pulling Ian up after him. “Clothes,” he demanded, “Off. Now!” 

It took them only seconds to strip bare and toss their shit out of the way. By the time Ian turned back towards the bench, Mickey was already moving things along. He’d straddled the stone surface and braced his hands on top of it, shoving his ass up in the air. It was enticing as fuck and normally Ian would’ve enjoyed the view. A slight breeze was blowing, ruffling Mickey’s hair, pimpling his skin ever so slightly. Fuck. Ian loved this shit. He loved fucking Mickey outside, for one. And honestly, he kind of loved fucking him where people might see. They’d done shit like this before and he couldn’t deny what it did to him, the idea that someone might get to see him fucking the man he loved. Hell, it had happened before.

“The fuck you doing, stargazing? Bang this out!

Mickey’s commanding voice tore Ian out of his fantasy and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. Striding towards his abandoned pants, he started rifling around in his pockets for his wallet.

“Don’t bother,” Mickey demanded from behind him. Turning around, Ian caught a mischievous quirk of the brunette’s brow, “ I’m good. I took care of it earlier.”

Ian just stared at him. “You’re bitching about people hearing us but you’ve already prepped your ass for my cock.” Chucking his pants down, he made it back to the bench in only two strides, kneeling on stone and pulling Mickey up against him. He let one hand splay over his husband’s chest while the other crept down to probe at his cleft. Sure enough, Mickey was loose and ready.

“Fucking hell, Mick,” Ian whispered against the brunette’s ear. He could feel a shiver run through the other man’s body and he quickly pushed him back down on his hands. 

“Alright, you want me to bang this out?” he asked, his teasing voice taking on a hard, commanding edge, “Well, you’d better hold the fuck on.” Reaching out, he grabbed his hands full of Mickey’s hips and dragged the brunette backward onto his shaft.

“Fuck!” Mickey cried, the noise echoing through the garden as Ian bottomed out. The redhead wasn’t feeling very merciful though, and he immediately set a bruising pace, his hips thrusting in perfect tandem with Mickey’s as he dragged him backwards over and over again. It only took a few moments for Mickey to start to fall apart, for his curses and filthy endearments to dissolve into helpless, frantic cries. 

“What? You think it’s gonna be that easy,” Ian murmured, half to himself as Mickey’s mind began to melt. Sliding off his knees, Ian let his feet find the ground and settled his own ass on cool stone, pulling Mickey back against him. “No, it’s not gonna be that easy.” He continued to shove the brunette up and down his cock, thoroughly enjoying the high pitched moans that were pouring out of his husband with each thrust. Whatever fears Mickey might’ve had about a possible audience had apparently fled because he was making absolutely no effort to keep it down as Ian fucked him apart. In fact, Ian was pretty sure Mickey wasn’t even aware of where he was anymore. And that was exactly how Ian liked it, when Mickey’s whole world narrowed down to the heat and pleasure of Ian’s dick inside him. The brunette’s arms were giving out, his torso now resting flat against the bench. It made the angle of Ian’s thrusts even more intense but the redhead didn’t relent at all, dragging Mickey’s perfect ass down the length of his shaft with just as much force. The brunette’s cries grew higher, breathier and more broken the longer Ian worked his body.

But long drawn out games were not in the cards tonight. Already, Ian could feel the warm, pulsing knot forming in the base of his spine. He was going to come soon, and there wasn’t going to be a damn thing he could do to slow it down. Leaning forward, he shifted his weight, laying flush against Mickey’s back, coiling over him as his cock slid even deeper into his husband’s sensitive channel. Mickey cried out, wailing with each thrust as Ian hooked their fingers together and spread their arms high, curling their hands around the edge of the bench. 

“Give me your mouth,” he growled against the brunette’s ear, twisting his head until he and Mickey could tangle their tongues together. Mickey was still crying, moaning against his tongue, and the tremors tasted delicious. Tearing himself away, Ian let his body run wild, his hips fucking frantically into his husband, who could do nothing but keen and arch his back against the onslaught. 

“Tell me you love this.” He demanded, keeping the furious pace, “Tell me you love having my cock in your ass.”

“Oh fuck you,” Mickey groaned, his voice wrecked and breathless as he pushed back against each of Ian’s thrusts. The redhead only grinned.

“Tell me,” he ordered again, letting his breath tickle the brunette’s ear. 

“Oh, fuck...you fucking...I fucking love it.”

“What? Tell me. Tell me you love having my cock in your ass. Tell me!”

“I fucking...oh, fuck...I fucking love it, okay, you fucker. I fucking love having your cock in my ass.”

Ian grinned. His body was so tense and ready, his dick desperate for release, but not yet. One more thing.

“Tell me you’re gonna come on my cock.”

“What the...fucking...Ian!”

“Tell me. Tell me your gonna come on my cock. Only my cock.”

Mickey’s whole body was tense and perfect beneath him, so hard and ready. But the redhead needed to hear it. He needed him to say the words. 

“Tell me!”

“Fucking fine!” The brunette cried, his whole body pushing back desperately onto Ian’s dick, “Fucking hell! I’m gonna...fuck...I’m gonna come on your cock...only your cock...oh fuck...oh jesus fucking…” and Mickey was done. His whole body convulsed, clenching and releasing in wave after wave as his words dissolved into mindless wails of bliss. His body tightened, squeezing Ian’s own length snuggly and dragging his own climax out of him. Whatever control Ian had, it was done now, and he let his own moans and pants join his husbands, the sounds echoing through the darkened garden as they both collapsed against the stone bench. 

They lay their quietly for a few long moments, their bodies heaving as they drew in breath. 

“Fucking love you, Mick,” Ian managed to whisper against his husband’s throat. 

“Fucking love you, too.” the brunette answered. Then his head popped up, silent and concentrating for a moment, “The fuck?”

Ian sat up, his own ears attuned. Shit. He wasn’t going to hear the end of this anytime soon. Off in the distance, from the back deck of the house, came the sound of whoops and applause.

“You think it’s everybody?” Mickey growled, letting his head fall into his hands. 

From his position on top of him, Ian only shrugged, “Probably not everybody.” He offered weakly.

“You are so fucking dead. Kiss your balls goodbye.”

Ian only grinned and pressed said balls against Mickey’s ass cheeks. “Nah, you like my balls right where they are.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is just a cute little chapter about Ian being incredibly attracted to a healthy Mickey as well as a little homage to their clear love of semi-public sex.


	7. Ian Critiques a Film

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian gets an interesting video link emailed to him while away on a training trip for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! Everybody hold on to your hats!

When the base of the plug finally,  _ finally _ slid inside of Mickey and nestled against his rim, the brunette let out a moan that echoed throughout Ian’s hotel room. It made the redhead jump for a second and cast a nervous glance at the far walls. Could someone else hear?

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He didn’t give a shit if anyone could hear, not really. Considering how hard he was already, he doubted he was going to be able to keep his own noises contained. And speaking of volume. Reaching towards his laptop, he pushed the up arrow, raising the sound as high as he dared. He didn’t want to miss a single whine or whimper.

Slicking his palm, he gently encircled his dick and gave it a pump.

He’d been fantasizing about this shit for at least four hours, ever since the notification had popped up on his email. But he’d still been stuck in a presentation on health code legislation, part of a conference that Augustan had sent him to in La Paz, so bailing and running back to his room hadn’t really been an option. And after the conference there had been dinner, of course, and a meet and greet, of course, and Ian had to smile and chat and network. It was part of his job and Ian loved his job, even this part. But he hated that he was stuck away from Mickey for three whole nights. And he really fucking hated that he’d had to ignore the video that Mickey had sent him.

But wait time was finally over. 

On his screen, the brunette was still on the floor, his legs frogged out to the sides and his elbows resting on the ground in front of him. He was panting lightly, his eyes screwed shut as tiny rivulets of sweat ran down his back. Ian understood. When he responded to Mickey’s request and typed up a list of demands for the brunette to fulfill in this little movie project, he’d deliberately picked that plug. It wasn’t particularly wide or difficult to take, but it was long and curved. Ian knew from experience how well it rested against Mickey’s prostate and how much pressure and intensity it generated every time his husband so much as breathed. As Mickey fought to acclimate, Ian noticed the brunette’s location for the first time. He wasn’t in their room like Ian would’ve expected. Hell, he wasn’t even in their loft. He was down below, in the boathouse where he repaired and maintained the fleet. 

The hell? Ian caught his breath as he watched Mickey slowly find his way to his feet. Why was he down there? Intrigue, warm and tingling, pulsed through Ian’s body as he fisted his own shaft gently. He knew what he’d told Mickey to do and it sure as fuck handn’t involved the workshop. It was a private place for sure, entirely Mickey’s domain, but Ian didn’t see how it would make a good…

Oh!

Fuck.

Ian let out a low breath as Mickey’s brilliant plan unfolded before him. The brunette had found his feet, arching his back and running his hands through his hair as he walked forward. The plug was clearly torturing him with each step but he only bit his lips and grinned at the camera set up off to the side. And now Ian understood why they were in the boathouse and why the brunette had set up the camera for a profile shot. Clearly visible, securely clamped to the workbench at waist level, was a knobbed silver sound. 

Well, this was some new shit. They’d been playing around with sounds for a couple of months now and Mickey had moved from merely curious to enthusiastic as fuck. But it had always been pretty straight-forward, lying in their bed. Was Mickey actually thinking of doing what it looked like he was thinking of doing?

Yes. Fucking hell, yes he was. Ian’s whole body flooded with fresh heat and his dick jumped with anticipation as he watched the brunette stroke his own length. Mickey picked up the lube and coated the metal rod generously and meticulously. Groaning, Ian reached down and tugged at his balls, staving himself off. This was too fucking much and the brunette hadn’t even started yet. But no, there he went. Bending his knees ever so slightly, Mickey took his own shaft and slid it gently onto the bulbed metal rod.

“Fuck!”

The expletive flew out of Mickey’s mouth, heated and breathless, but Ian repeated it in his own head. Mickey hadn’t pushed in far, maybe just an inch, gently jacking himself as the head of his cock stretched around the intrusion. His eyes fell shut and his lips fell open to emit gente moans. His chest rose and fell with each stroke of his hand. 

Ian stared, transfixed by the sight in front of him. The brunette was teasing himself, giving Ian a perfect show as he gently worked his shaft, letting the silver bulb shift inside of the sensitive head. Ian could see the lovely flex of his muscles beneath the skin and the subtle tremble of his ass as it clenched around the plug. 

This wasn’t a show, it was fucking peformance art, with Mickey’s body as the best medium. Hell, Ian needed him to do this more often. But the brunette was clearly ready to take things further. Opening his eyes, he took a deep breath and began to gently thrust his hips. 

Fuck. Ian felt flushed. Slowly, gently, carefully, perfectly, Mickey rode the thick length of the sound, taking more and more of it inside of him with each thrust. Further and further, he pushed, crying out as the pressure became more intense, as the depth became more intrusive, until the thick bulb near the end was finally swallowed up by his narrow entrance and there was nothing left to take. 

“Oh fuck,” Ian anounced to the empty room, forcing himself to stroke up and down his own length lightly and slowly, the better to prolong the experience. Any more pressure and he’d be done. The sight in front of him was enough. “Fuck, Mick.”

Ian bit at his own lip as the brunette on the screen did the same. Mickey’s fingers were curled around the edge of the workbench, his knuckles turning white as he tried to reign in the sensation. He glanced at the camera, the look on his face drawing a snort of mirth that managed to cut through Ian’s arousal. Fuck, that face. It was halfway between  _ come hither _ and  _ I’m gonna fuck you up so bad for this _ but the moment passed quickly as Mickey’s eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open.

“Fucking...uhhhHH! Fuck!” he cried, followed by deep, keening breaths as he tried to steady himself.

On the other side of the screen, Ian smiled. That had been one of the requests he’d put in the email; that Mickey make it last, that he resist the urge to come too fast. Fuck, Ian couldn’t get over the man he’d managed to lock down. He couldn’t imagine how intense the feeling must be, to have the plug and the sound so deep inside of him, but one thing he could say for certain was that Mickey looked hot as hell as he wrestled with the sensations. It turned him on like nothing else, watching Mickey just submit to him like this. And the huge, beautiful, satisfied smile that curved across the brunette’s lips when he finally managed to gain control took Ian’s breath away. 

The redhead shifted, pushing away from the pillows and getting up on is knees as he continued to work his own dick leisurely. Sure, he’d told Mickey to do his best but he wasn’t an idiot. The brunette would only be able to last for so long. He was moving again, up on the balls of his feet, letting his cock slide up and down the silver rod as his fists clung to the workbench. Over and over, Mickey let his hips works, flexing back and forth. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and he let out a continual litany of low, throaty moans, but he pushed himself to keep going. And Ian stayed with him, stroking his own length to the same beat as Mickey fought down his own urges. 

Ian could see the moment that his love lost the battle. Mickey had pressed back down on the silver rod and frozen, with the last bump nestled inside his flared head. The brunette looked like he was half out of his mind, but Ian knew the signs to look for. There was a give, a drop in Mickey’s shoulders, that always let the redhead know when his beautiful husband needed to surrender. And it was there now.

“C’mon, Mick,” he murmured out loud, working his own dick with renewed speed as he watched his lover hover at the edge. “Let go. Let me see.”

Mickey cried out, his voice echoing through the workshop and Ian’s hotel room. He pulled back, careful but quick, as his own hand encircled his length and began to tug . His legs gave out and he went down on his knees, never missing a stroke as he came panting apart, crying out on the floor of the little shop. It took Ian absolutely no time at all to follow him over the edge, falling forward onto one arm as his other hand continued to milk his body through an intense-as-fuck climax. Finally, spent, they both cradled themselves with one hand, bracing the other for support, as Ian’s eyes found Mickey’s through the screen. He was miles and hours away but somehow, the brunette still managed to offer up the most self-satisfied grin possible. 

Then the screen went black. 

An hour later, sated, showered and done with the little bit of work he’d needed to complete, Ian fell into bed. He lay on the left side, his side, hating the empty expanse of bed beside him. It always dragged up dark memories, long nights when he’d slept alone, unable to contact Mickey, unaware if the love of his life was even okay. But, thank fuck, those days were behind him. Grabbing his phone, he hit Facetime.

“Sup, Firecrotch?”

Mickey lay on his side, a perfect mirror image to Ian. The redhead couldn’t help but grin. They’d both placed their phones in the spot usually taken up by their respective spouse. Ian hated being in a bed without Mickey, but it was still good to know that his husband hated it just as much.

“You enjoyed yourself today,” he kidded, loving the smile that curled Mickey’s lips.

“Yup. Bet you enjoyed it, too,”

Ian felt his own grin widen. “Think I could get the live version sometime?”

Mickey’s smile turned wicked but he said nothing. Instead, his intense blue eyes burned through the screen, a gaze Ian returned willingly. For a long moment, they both just stared, loose and relaxed and content. It was so fucking normal, so fucking domestic, to go on a business trip and give his husband a call because he missed him. Ian might hate being away, but he loved moments like these, when they were a simple, regular married couple with responsibilities and opportunities. He’d never thought they’d have this shit. He was so damn glad they did.

“Love you,” he whispered.

“Love you, too,” Mickey answered emphatically. Shifting slightly on his side, he adjusted the screen so Ian could see him a little better. “So, you learn any good shit there? Something to make this worth it?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Ian replied, settling in to tell Mick about his day, “There’s some new guidelines for coastal water safety on beach property. Your guys will need to be trained in it, too. Oh, and a new medical cert might be starting up…

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This involves sounding. This was actually given to me as a recommendation for this story and I did some research and learned about safety and stuff. But as steamy as I think this gets, my favorite part is actually the end. That's the Mickey and Ian I love the most and want the most on the actual show.


	8. Mickey Gets An Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys take a little trip to Windsor, Ontario and Mickey says thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes some direct connections to Part 3 of this series "Come Away With Me".

**January 23, 2025**

It was snowing again.

The lights in the little living room were all turned out now, creating a clear view through the huge picture window of the whipping white flakes under the glowing streetlights. Mickey had seen snowy nights before. He was from Chicago for fuck’s sake. But this was different. The ground outside, stretching toward the streetlight, was no longer a perfect white tableau. It was a mess of footsteps and sled trails and half-trampled snow angels. It was the yard of a little kid who’d spent the whole damn day playing outside.

With his dad. 

Yevy was still in Mickey’s arms, but the little guy was no longer staring out the window. His head, still blond but darker now as he grew, had fallen on his father’s shoulder a few minutes ago and now his soft, even breath ruffled at Mickey’s hair. He was done, exhausted, and Mickey couldn’t blame him. He was pretty damn tired himself. 

They’d had a whirlwind three days in the Canadian city of Windsor. And tomorrow, Svet would meet them north of the border to take Yev back home. So Mickey gave himself a moment longer to hold his kid, who was almost too big for this shit now. By next year’s trip, he probably would be. 

Mickey fucking loved these long weekends, tucked away with his husband and kid in their little rental house in the snow. Of all Ian’s bright ideas, this one had been the best. And that was why Mickey had to finally put his kid down to bed. He had one more task to complete before he could go to sleep himself. He had to find Ian and say thank you.

He found the redhead sprawled on the bed in the master bedroom, fucking around on his phone. Ian didn’t notice him right away and Micky let himself lean against the doorway and contemplate shit for a moment. He shared a lot with Ian now. Didn’t keep all his shit bottled up inside anymore. It was still hard, though, to always find the words to explain how he felt about the twists and turn in his life. It was good. Not perfect, but really, really good. There were moments when he still felt down, still felt pissed and frustrated, but those moments were few and far between. In reality, his life was so much fuller than he’d ever imagined. Sure, Mickey Milkovich was a wanted fugitive and Ian Gallagher was a big red flag, but Eian and Michael Milligan could move around the world pretty much as they wanted. They’d probably never set foot in the States again, not wanting to tempt fate too much, but Windsor was pretty damn close. 

And they might only get to see his kid in person a few times a year, but he could  _ see _ him. He could give the kid undivided attention, teach him to swim, to drive a boat. And now, thanks to his husband, he could run around in the snow like an idiot for hours on end with him. No, it wasn’t perfect, but it was their life and he was fucking grateful. 

And he wanted to say thank you.

Ian looked up when the door clicked shut but Mickey was already half naked by then, his shirt hitting the floor as he shucked his pants down. 

“C’mere,” he ordered, grabbing the redhead by the hand and dragging him up off the bed. 

“The hell happened to ‘Not when the kid’s here’?” Ian chuckled as Mickey pulled him close and stripped him bare.

“He’s sleeping like the dead,” Mickey responded, “But we still got to keep it quiet.” With a gentle shove, he pushed the redhead down into the desk chair in the corner of the room. It thunked against the wall and they both froze for a moment, but there was no noise anywhere except the gentle settling of the house and the occasional whistle of wind outside of the window. 

Taking two steps, Mickey reached the door and nibbed the lock. 

“Just in case,” he murmured, walking back toward Ian, who already had his dick in his hand, slicking it and working it to fullness. Mickey took a few more steps forward, pushing up close to Ian’s chest with a leg on either side of his thighs. The redhead stared up at him, the teasing smile on his lips melting into something more sensual and serious as Mickey bent his knees and reached for Ian’s shaft.

“Careful,” Ian whispered, but Mickey just shook his head. The tip was as thick as usual but it was slick and hard and primed and it breached Mickey easily as he pressed down. It pulled a hiss out of the brunette as it burned past the rim and settled inside him.

“It’s good,” Mickey promised as Ian’s lips curled up in concern. “No, it’s really good. I need to...fuck...I need to feel it. Hate when we have to wait this long.”

“Okay, but slow.”

He nodded, letting his hands drift around the back of Ian’s head, threading his fingers through the thick red locks and pulling their brows together. Ian’s arms circled him, spanning over his hips and ass, encouraging the subtle bounce in his hips as he worked the full length inside of him. And they only wrapped tighter and pulled him closer as he fully seated himself.

“Fuck,” Ian breathed against his mouth.

“Yeah,” he answered, his mouth twisting into a smile against Ian’s lips. He found his footing on the floor and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders, pulling them flush, chest to chest, as he began to rock himself up and down. 

For long moments, Mickey lost himself in the sensations, his mind overtaken by heat and tingling pleasure. The room was silent, save for the gentle creak of the chair and the quiet, muted moans that escaped them as they rocked together. Ian’s hands shifted now; one had spread wide across the upper curve of his ass, gently supporting each thrust. The other was pressed between his shoulder blades, pinning them together skin to skin as they moved. The redhead had burrowed his face into Mickey’s neck, muffling his moans as he breathed in the scent. 

Mickey let his head fall back, giving the redhead all the access he wanted. His eyes fell open, fixed on a tiny spot on the ceiling as he rocked and moaned into the air. It was all so familiar to him. He knew the feeling of Ian’s hands on him, of his cock in him. He knew that the redhead would need to touch him all over, to bury his face in the juncture of Mickey’s neck and shoulder. He knew what it felt like to be trapped in those arms, chased by those lips. Some people might say that predictability was the death of passion, but fuck that. He’d take this any day, every day if he got his way. He knew Ian inside and out and was known by him just as intimately. And it made him free.

Light tongues of fire were licking all over him. Fuck, he was getting close, but he couldn’t come, not yet. No, there was something he needed to do first. Drawing in a deep breath, he pressed down on Ian’s lap, wrapping his arms around the back of the redhead’s neck and holding him close.

“Fuck!” Ian cried out, and Mickey couldn’t contain the nervous laugh that burst from his chest as he pressed a finger to his lover’s lips. 

“Shhhhh,” he ordered, “Yev!”

“Then shit...get your ass moving again!”

“No...just...give me a second. Got a present for you.”

“You were about to give me a great fucking present,” Ian groused, but an intrigued fire was burning in his emerald eyes as he held Mickey’s gaze. The deep green sucked Mickey in, pulling him closer until his lips found Ian’s. A light peck turned deeper almost immediately, and suddenly they were jousting with their tongues and Mickey’s hips were rocking forward again.

“Fuck!” The brunette exclaimed, ripping his mouth away and pressing their brows together again, “You fucking...You’re a fucking distraction. Can’t even resist you.”

“You never could.”

“Then help me out,” Mickey spit back, holding Ian close, “I just...I want to say thanks for this shit.”

Ian’s lips found his ear. “You don’t have to thank me for anything. This is just you and me taking care of our family.”

Pulling him close, Mickey stared down into Ian’s eyes. “I know that,” he replied, his voice sinking into a whisper under the weight of his emotions. “I’m not trying to get all serious. I know. I promise.” He pressed a light, soft kiss to the redhead’s lips, then leaned back. “I have something for you, though. And I just want to feel you, okay. So just sit the fuck still and let me feel you. And let me give you your present.”

Ian nodded, his eyes wide and bright. Mickey took a deep breath at the sight, kissed him quickly again, and wrapped one arm around the back of Ian’s neck. As he suspected, the redhead immediately burrowed back into the side of his throat as he arms looped back around Mickey’s waist. Ian was holding him so close that it made his movement a little difficult, but he managed to fumble at the desk drawer, where he’d previously stashed the tiny gift bag earlier in the evening. Fumbling momentarily with the strings, he righted himself and leaned back, biting at his lip as Ian shifted inside of him. They grinned giddily at each other for a moment as Mickey held the little bag up between them. Ian took with one hand, wrestling with the little bag and the velvety jewelry sack it contained with one hand, keeping the other spread over Mickey’s back. The brunette leaned into the touch, anticipation pooling low in his belly as Ian finally worked the little pouch open and pulled his present out.

“What do you think?”

Ian just stared up at him, his eyes big and wide. The burn had faded. The green light was now just a warm, caressing glow as he held Mickey’s gaze.

“The hell is this?”

“Oh, like you don’t fucking know!” Reaching up, Mickey used his free hand to open up Ian’s fingers and expose the silver gauge. It rested on his palm as they both stared down at it. Releasing his arm from around Ian’s neck, Mickey grabbed the redhead’s arm, stealing the little bag and chucking it to the side as he guided the redhead’s fingers down between them. His own cock was hard and standing at attention but he ignored that, drawing Ian’s hand down under his sack to the delicate, sensitive seam that hid there.

“You think I haven’t noticed how much you love this. It’s your new favorite spot. So I thought I’d let you put a stamp on it. Since you love marking me as yours and shit.”

Ian didn’t say a word. All he could seem to muster was a deep breath as he met Mickey’s eyes again. Underneath him, Mickey could feel strong hands stroking up and down over the sensitive skin of his perineum and he let himself keen and lean into the touch as Ian teased him.

“You’d really do it?” Ian asked, “I mean, I’ve never. Fuck, Mick, I’ve never...I’ve never even asked. I...I’ve never even thought of this shit!”

“Yeah, I know. But I thought I’d offer.” 

“Oh fuck,” Ian moaned, his cock twitching inside Mickey as the image seared itself into his brain. He glanced down again and the brunette followed his gaze as it came to rest on the silver gauge again.

“It’ll match,” he murmured, examining the celtic knotwork and the smooth blue stones at each end. “And this is the right kind. I had Ivan help me out…

“Of course.”

“Oh shut the hell up. Like I’d have known this shit. It even has a French fucking name.”

“A guiche piercing.”

“Oh yeah, Firecrotch. You knew that? Thought you hadn’t even thought about this before.”

Ian just grinned at him. 

“You sure about this, Mick?”

The brunette stared down at him for a long moment, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just bit at the redhead’s lip and began to thrust his hips hard. Ian’s gaze went glassy and his mouth fell open as the movement of Mickey’s hips pulled a deep moan from him. 

“Yeah,” he breathed finally, his voice tense and raw from the rampant sensation rocking his body, “Yeah, I’m sure. This…” he wagged his wedding band in front of Ian’s heated gaze, “This shit is for everyone to see and understand. These…” he let his one free hand drift over the matching cobachon piercings on his chest, “These are our little public secret that everyone can see but no one gets to understand. But this is just for you, okay. No one gets to see it but you. Only you, okay.”

His words were become breathless and his hips were thrusting mindlessly as he blathered promises against Ian’s lips. He had no idea what he was saying by this point but whatever it was, it was doing incredible things to his husband. Ian had wrapped him in both of his arms again, squeezing him close and driving him up and down his shaft. Mickey could vaguely hear his words dissolving into heated babbles and then lightening was wracking his body. His feet peddled against the floor and his hands scrabbled against Ian’s shoulders as they tensed and came apart in each other’s arms. 

“Shhhhhhhh,” Ian whispered giddily against his lips as they both tried to control their breathing and their ridiculous, muffled laughter, “Yev might wake up.”

“Door’s locked.” Mickey murmured, turning towards the clock. “Shit, but we do need to sleep. Early morning.” Turning back, he gestured towards Ian’s hand with his chin. “You still got that shit?”

Reaching over, Ian dropped the gauge on the desktop and circled Mickey’s waist again. “Early morning. Yeah. But stay just a little longer, alright?”

  
  



	9. Mickey Pushes a Boundary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian have a serious conversation about limits and the things Mickey is willing to wear in public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the stories I've ever written, the ones in this universe are the ones that I love most. And of all the moments in those stories, this now stands as my favorite.

**April 17, 2025**

“Would you let me fucking move already?”

Mickey batted his hands against the ironclad hold Ian had on his hips but it was no fucking use. The redhead was fucking relentless as he stared up at him, a sly grin curling his lips.

“Not until we talk about this shit.”

Mickey stared down at him hard, “Now!” he demanded, “Are you not paying fucking attention?” He let his hands flail around, gesturing to the general circumstances. “We have a perfect rainy day to ourselves, no responsibilities, and I’m literally on your dick and you want to fucking talk?”

The smile melted off Ian’s lips and Mickey could see his stubborn spouse’s expression turning mulish as he considered Mickey carefully.

“Yeah, Mick,” he answered firmly, propping himself up on his elbows and jostling Mickey back against his thighs. “I want to talk about it right now. If you’re on my dick, there’s less of a chance that you’ll try to run away and avoid the conversation again.”

“Bitch, you think I won’t run? Your dick ain’t that great.”

Ian just snorted. “You think my dick is perfect. You say so all the time. But if you want to get off of it and run, go ahead.” He lay back again, clearly calling Mickey’s bluff.

“Fuck,” Mickey mumbled, sinking down in conceded defeat.

“Uh-huh,” Ian grumbed right back, letting his hands circle the brunette’s hips again. 

“It’s not. That shit ain’t me, Ian.”

“The fuck it isn’t. It’s absolutely you.”

“I’ll look fucking stupid!”

Ian sat up fast, wrapping an arm around Mickey’s lower back. “Bullshit,” he whispered, raining kisses all over Mickey’s face while the brunette tried to keep a smile from cracking his lips. “That’s complete bullshit. You’ll look incredible.”

Leaning back on his elbows, he pushed lightly at Mickey’s stomach. “Go!” he ordered, “Go get it. Just take a look and let me see it. You don’t have to wear it outside if you don’t want to.”

“Fuck! Fine!” Mickey crawled out of his lap, letting Ian’s dick slap harshly against his stomach as he pulled off.

“Ah, fucker!” the redhead groused, cupped at the shaft and shooting his husband a filthy look. But the brunette remained uncontrite as he headed into the living room and tore at the package that lay across the back of the coach.

“That’s what you get,” he threw over his shoulder. Then he turned and considered the contents.

This wasn’t him. Well, no. That was wrong. This was him, now. Completely and totally. The Mickey Milkovich of the South Side wasn’t him anymore. And that had to be what the fuck was scaring him. He’d changed and grown so much, but he’d always maintained the slimmest veneer of badassary, just enough to keep him safe. But to do this, to wear this so publicly...fuck. It would put it all out in the open. 

“This is some big shit for me,” he murmured, glancing back over the little half-wall that separated their bedroom from the rest of the little loft. Ian had finished nursing his cock, apparently, and had gotten to his feet, leaning on the wall and watching him carefully.

“Just in here for now,” he cajoled, his eyes wide and hopeful. “Or...how about just the top part.”

“Yeah,” Mickey stated, picking it up and sliding the plastic packaging off. “Just this...for now.”

“C’mere,” Ian begged, sitting back down on the bed, “And bring the tassel, too.”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey turned back and grabbed the little blue tassel, attaching it as he walked back into their bedroom. Ian was leaning against the headboard and he let the redhead guide him back to straddle his lap again. Holding the nerve-wracking garment out, he pushed it into Ian’s hands.

“You do it. I don’t know how this goes on.”

Ian took the thing in both hands. “I mean, I’m guessing here, too,” he replied, meeting Mickey’s eyes, “I’ve never worn one either.”

There was an unmistakable hint of sadness in the redhead’s voice and it poked at Mickey’s heart.

“You can, you know,” he stated insistently, “I know there was so much shit you hoped you’d get to do...just, you could...if you wanted to. We could make that shit happen easy now.”

Ian nodded, smiling up at him. “I know. But this isn’t about me. It’s about you.” Reaching up, Ian stretched out the elastic and pulled it over Mickey’s head, adjusting the tassel. Mickey watched as his entire face split into a hungry grin. “I mean, I think you look hot as fuck in it.”

“Feels weird.”

“I don’t think they’re designed for comfort.”

“Or long-term use. Isn’t the whole point that I’m supposed to rip it off at the end?”

Ian’s grin widened. “Yeah, but grab the tassel first. You’re supposed to save those.”

“Why?”

“Fuck if I know. To remember the experience?” 

Mickey nodded. Reaching up, he let his hands drift over it, the hard, square lines of the crown, the annoying elastic that dug into the tops of his ears, the stupid little tassel that kept sliding forward everytime he moved his head.

“We’re always talking about limits, right. What if this is one of mine?”

“Then that’s okay,” Ian answered, reaching up and linking his hands behind the brunette’s head. He pulled him down for a kiss, only to catch a mouthful of tassel in the process.

“Fuck,” he muttered, spitting it out with a laugh. “Look, Mick, I’m pushing this a little, yeah, because I think you’re freaked out by it but deep down, you want to do it. You worked your ass off for this, you’re graduating with honors, for fucks sake! And yeah, that’s all still true whether you walk in the ceremony or not, but that shit can really matter. I mean, you and I could’ve gotten married downtown at the registry. But we wanted everyone here. We wanted to celebrate. Because it matters.”

“Yeah,” Mickey murmured carefully.

“And this matters, too. I want...I really want to take pictures and cheer like an idiot and be completely fucking proud of you, okay. I want to be able to sit there and know that my fucking husband is hot, brilliant, and accomplished…”

“Alright, alright…”

“No, Mick, I mean that shit, okay. And...just remember that you deserve all of this, that you earned it. And we’re both safe here. It’s okay for us to enjoy shit…”

“Alright!” Mickey dropped his forehead down against Ian’s, snatching at the tassel before it could get in the way, and planting a firm kiss against the redhead’s lips. “I’ll think about this, okay? I really will.” Leaning back, he ran a thumb over Ian’s mouth, “Now can you please shut the hell up and get on me.”

Ian grinned, reaching down to stroke his cock. “Think you’d better get on me,” he answered. He thrust up and Mickey could feel the warm skin brush against his ass. “And leave the fucking hat on.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, this would honestly be one of Mickey's biggest fears. And I think Ian would really help him work through it. Because Ian sees him bathed in white light (I'm still mad that Shameless cut that scene from the actual broadcast)!
> 
> Hope everyone has enjoyed this. Would love to hear thoughts. Also, this will probably be the last from me for a pretty long while so thanks for reading.


End file.
